


Senior Prisoner of War Wilhelm Klink

by LordRebeccaSama



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Gen, Kommadant, Prisoner of War, Stalag 13, swap, tunnels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordRebeccaSama/pseuds/LordRebeccaSama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilhelm Klink wakes up in Hogan's bed, wearing Hogan's clothes, and walks down into the tunnels to do some sabotage work while Kommadant Hogan runs the camp with an iron fist. </p><p><i>This dream is just too real to be fake, but is that what it is?</i> Klink thought.</p><p>Oneshot. Complete. Nominated for the 2013 Papa Bear Awards Best Short General Story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senior Prisoner of War Wilhelm Klink

**Author's Note:**

> I own noooothing! XD
> 
> "Normal" is English. "Italics" is German (or French)…or thoughts.

" _Raus_ , every-body up, up, up! Roooll caaall! _Schnell!_ "

Colonel Klink rolled off his top bunk and pulled on his leather flight jacket. He froze. Leather...flight...jacket? Klink's eyes bulged and his ripped off the jacket looking at the eagles on his shoulders. This was Hogan's jacket, but then he noticed that something vital to the jacket was different. The name tag, which usually read 'COL. R. E. HOGAN', read 'COL. W. KLINK'. Klink couldn't think anymore. This wasn't happening. He wasn't in the USAAF, he was in the _Luftwaffe_. He was a loyal German officer. What had happened last night to have him wake up here of all places.

Someone knocked on the door into the private room in Barracks Two. "Colonel Klink?" Schultz said. "Are you in there? It is time for roll call. Oh, Colonel Klink, _please_ be in there."

Klink dropped the flight jacket on the lower bunk and pulled open the door. "Schultz! Come in here," Klink said, pulling the robust guard into the room.

"But Colonel Klink, I _need_ to do roll call. And you need to go out with your men. I don't want to know about any of your mon-key business. _Please_ , Colonel Klink, I want to know noth-ing."

"Shut up, you _dummkopf_ ," Klink snapped. "Something is wrong here. Why am I in the prisoner's barracks, wearing Hogan's clothes?"

" _Was_?"

"And what 'monkey business' are you talk...ing..." Klink trailed off and realized something. He didn't have an accent. He sounded like an American. "Schultz, something is going on. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm the _Kommadant_ , not the senior prisoner of war!"

Realization dawned on his face and Klink was overjoyed for the second before Schultz spoke. "Nuh uh, I'm not falling for any of your mon-key business today, Colonel Klink. Now fall outside for roll call. The Big Shot will have my head if I am late. Now, _raus, raus, raus!_ "

Klink was confused. He had no idea what was going on. Maybe, just maybe, if he played along, he would find out what was happening. This just had to be one big set-up by Hogan. Yes, that was it.

He grabbed the flight jacket off the bed and pulled it on, leading the way out of the barracks and stood where Colonel Hogan usually stood.

"What took you so long, gov'?" the _Engländer_ , Newkirk, said.

"I just had to talk to Schulz, is all." Newkirk raised an eyebrow and was about to question him, but was cut off my Schultz's shouting, "All present and accounted for, _Herr Kommadant_!"

Klink couldn't believe his eyes. There, in front of him, stood Colonel Hogan in a German _Luftwaffe_ uniform, small mustache, and glasses.

"Very good," he said with a Prussian accent. "Dismiss your prisoners, Sergeant."

" _Jawohl, Herr Kommadant._ " He clicked his heels together and saluted Hogan. Hogan scowled and turned back to the main building.

Schultz turned back towards the prisoners. "You heard the _Kommadant_ , diiis-miiised!" This was more than just a small trick, or the time that he switched places with the American colonel. He was a different person altogether.

"Alright, Schultzie," Newkirk said, patting the front of the guard's uniform. "You don't 'ave to shout."

"Oh, I'm sorry, _Engländer._ "

"Maybe if you're good, Schultzie, I'll make you some apple strudel," the little cockroach, LeBeau, said, crowding around the guard.

"That would be _wunderbar._ "

Klink glanced in the direction that Hogan walked off to and looked back at the other prisoners. They were all busy distracting Schultz. Klink snuck off to the office to speak with Hogan.

\--

Kinch watched his commanding officer attempt to sneak into the Kommadant's office. He's been acting weird since he woke up.

"Hey, Schultz," Kinch called, walking up to the large guard. "What did you and the colonel talk about in his room?"

Schultz's bottom lip jutted out as he thought about the conversation he had earlier. "He called me a _dummkopf_ and said he was the Kommadant, not the senior officer. He was not acting like himself. Please help him. I don't like seeing him like this."

"Don't worry, Schultzie," Newkirk said, "We'll take good care of the colonel. 'E's probably just sick."

" _Oui_ , Schultzie, this prison camp food isn't the best to keep us healthy."

\--

Klink stalked past Hilda and barged into his office without bothering to knock. He was going to find out what was going on one way or another.

"Hoooogan," he started, shaking his fist at the man behind the desk.

Hogan looked up, his glasses catching the light. "What do you want, Klink? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"What did you do?" Klink asked, leaning towards Colonel Hogan.

Hogan sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what you're talking about, Klink. I don't have time for this. Don't you see the work I have to do?" He paused and glared at the balding colonel. "I don't care that you're the senior POW. You will respect your superiors. Go back to your barracks before I have you carried back in a box. Do we understand each other?"

Klink swallowed the lump in his throat and attempted to stare down the younger colonel. His cold eyes stared back at him. This was not the Colonel Robert Hogan that he knew. "Yes, sir," he said and saluted, not wishing to anger the man any further.

He walked slowly out of the office and back to Barracks Two. The men watched him as he avoided all of them and went into the corner room, shutting himself in. Klink lay down on the lower bunk and stared up at the lower side of the upper bunk.

What was going on? He was a prisoner in his own camp and no one, even the guards that weren't sympathetic to the prisoners, bat an eyelash. Hogan's main group was treating him as a fellow prisoner. Was the world going insane? Or was everything that he knew just a dream? No, that couldn't be it. If his life before was a dream, why was it so clear? Butthis didn't seem like a dream either.

Klink sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. Nothing made sense anymore. He needed to play along. Maybe that's all Hogan's men wanted him to do, and if he does, he would get some much needed answers.

Someone knocked on his door. "Colonel?" Carter asked. "Lunch is ready."

"Thanks, Carter, I'll be out in a minute," Klink replied, trying to be civil with the enlisted prisoners. He took a deep breath. It was Showtime; all he had to do was act like Hogan. He laid his hand on the doorknob and deflated. That was easier said than done.

He took another breath to steady himself. He was Colonel Wilhelm Klink, head of the escape-proof Stalag 13. He could do this. Klink watched Hogan interact with his men all the time. It couldn't be that hard to channel his carefree attitude. His hand gripped the doorknob tighter. Well, he would _try_ anyway.

He opened the door and the smell of LeBeau's cooking. Did the prisoners eat like this every day? No wonder he never saw this group at the mess hall. He sat down at the table and LeBeau placed a plate of food in front of him along with a cup of coffee. Klink took a bite and almost couldn't hold back the groan of ecstasy from the taste that danced across his taste buds. How LeBeau ever managed to make camp rations taste good, he will never understand.

"This is delicious, LeBeau," Klink said.

" _Merci, mon colonel._ " He glared at Newkirk. "At least _someone_ appreciates my cooking."

"We appreciate your cookin', but you never cook anythin' but bleedin' French food."

"Why you"

The bottom bunk of the bed in the corner rose up and Sergeant Kinchloe climbed out holding a blue piece of paper. Klink gasped in astonishment and almost choked on the food in his mouth.

"We have a mission from London," he said. "They want the bridge leading to Düsseldorf blown up tonight." He hit the side of the bunk and the bed lowered back to its original position.

"Tonight?" Newkirk asked. "They're cutting it a wee bit close, don't you think?"

"We've done tighter operations before," LeBeau responded.

"The underground said an ammunition train is scheduled to pass at 2300 hours," Kinch replied.

"I've got some real doosies waiting down in the tunnel that would be perfect for tonight. When they go off they'll be like BOOM, BAH--" Newkirk hit Carter's hat down over his head to silence him.

"You know, Andrew, sometimes I worry about what goes on in that small head of yours." Carter rested his chin in his hand and thought for a minute. "Well--" Newkirk hit the back of Carter's head.

"That was a rhetorical question, _mon ami._ "

"Oh"

"Are you okay, sir?" Kinchloe asked.

Klink jumped at the sudden voice talking to him. "Oh, um, yes, sergeant, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

"You've been awfully quiet, boy, I mean sir."

"I didn't sleep well last night. I'm just tired. I think I'll rest in my quarters until dinner," Klink said, standing up. "Lunch was excellent, Corporal."

" _Merci._ "

Klink retreated into the private room of Barracks Two. He tried to steady his shaking hands. Bunks that move, communications from London, _bombs_. This was just all too much. What next? The senior POW has regular trips to London for strategy meetings. It was just all too ridiculous, but Klink couldn't ignore the evidence staring him in the face. These men risked their lives against the Germans daily. All he ever did was sit behind a desk and sign papers.

Even if this was just a dream, and Hochstetter's crazy ideas about Papa Bears and sabotage had sunk into his brain, he would make sure these men were okay. They aren't cowards like Klink, and since Hogan seemed to be on the other side and unable to keep them from harm, he would take his place. He swore to himself; he would make sure these men survived the war, even at the cost of his own life.

The next few hours went by fast for Klink. He tried to sleep, thinking that maybe he would wake up back in his own bed, but he couldn't find a comfortable position on the thin mattress. He gave up and picked up a well worn book off the shelf, choosing to pass the time brushing up on his English.

He drifted out of what he came to accept as his quarters for dinner and evening roll call. Hogan made a brief appearance and went back inside as quick as he could.

"Come on, sir," Carter said.

"What?" Klink asked.

"We have work to do." Carter led him to the bunk that Kinchloe climbed out of earlier and hit the side of the bunk twice, causing the bunk to raise. He threw one leg over and climbed down.

Klink stared down into the tunnel. He couldn't believe it. A tunnel. Here, in Stalag 13, the most escape proof camp in Germany. This could _not_ be happening. Sure, he saw Kinchloe climb out earlier, but actually looking down into the dark tunnel was another experience altogether.

"You coming, sir?" Carter asked.

"Yes," Klink squeaked out. "Sorry." He climbed over the bunk and down into the tunnel expecting to see something akin to foxholes, but nothing like this. The tunnel was tall enough for an average size man to walk tall in and wide enough to walk side-by-side with someone. The walls were reinforced with slabs of wood he was sure was stolen from the storage shed.

Carter led him down one of the branch tunnels. He passed a radio room with what looked like switchboards and a large machine that was printing out enough money to break the bank. How did they manage to get all of this together under the camp? Why hasn't the Stalag caved in?

Carter turned into a room filled with different uniforms, civilian clothes, fabrics, and sewing supplies. Newkirk and LeBeau were slipping into black clothes and rubbing grease on their faces. Klink swallowed the lump in his throat and grabbed that last set of black sitting on the bench. Those must be his, he guessed, slipping into the form fitting clothes. _When in Rome_ , he thought as he put grease onto his own face.

Once everyone was suited up, Kinch led the way down the tunnel, coming from the radio, already dressed in his blacks. Newkirk raised a periscope and gave the all clear. One by one the men climbed up the ladder and hid in the woods. Klink knew that once he set food outside the camp in these clothes, there would be no turning back. His eyes took on a hardened edge. He was okay with that. These men needed someone to watch their backs, and without Colonel Hogan, he was that man.

He climbed up the ladder and stayed low to the ground, avoiding the search lights and hid in the bushes with the men. Once Newkirk was out, it was an easy trip to the bridge. They set the charges with no problems and started to head back to camp. Klink had fallen back into the leadership position and led the group forward.

_SNAP!_

The group froze.

"Down," Klink hissed. The group crouched down and pulled out their weapons, looking around for the source of the sound.

After a few minutes and no one showed up, they eased to their feet and continued waking back towards camp.

" _Was war das?_ " a voice asked.

Another voice answered, " _Zeig dich!_ "

Klink scowled. "Split up," he ordered. "If I'm not back by morning, evacuate the camp." Klink had no idea if they ever set up an evacuation plan, but with an operation that was that extensive, there was little doubt that they didn't have one in place.

"But gov'--" protested Newkirk.

"No 'buts', Corporal. That's an order. Understand?" Klink looked each man in the eye and they nodded in understanding.

"Righ', sir," he said.

" _Oui, mon colonel._ "

"Yes, sir."

"Gotcha boy, I mean, sir."

"Good, now, let's get out of here."

The group snuck forward, Klink bringing up the rear, a few steps behind the rest of the men.

"Halt!" a voice called out.

"Run," Klink commanded and the men scattered, thinking that their commanding officer was following them.

A beam of light caught Klink's back and he froze, raising his arms. "Turn around."

"Hello, Major," Klink said, hoping that other men had managed to get away fast enough. He didn't care about himself. He was a coward and those men were much braver than he was ever going to be.

Hochstetter grinned. "I've got you now, Klink," he growled, pointing his gun at the colonel. He stalked closer. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this day. The day where I would _finally_ catch the infamous Papa Bear out of his safe camp and at work." Hochstetter grinned. "I'm going to enjoy making you suffer."

Klink was breathing heavily, a thin layer of sweat covered his body, and black spots started to fill his vision. He blinked them away. He couldn't afford to pass out now. He had to stall the major for as long as he could. Even if Hochstetter thought that _he_ was this Papa Bear he always ranted about. Although, after seeing the tunnels, it wasn't that big of a stretch.

"Now, Klink, start walking."

Klink took one step and the bridge's charges exploded, sending debris into the sky. Klink glanced at Hochstetter and saw that he was distracted with protecting himself from the supposed air raid. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and turned tail and ran.

Hochstetter growled, "No!" He raised his gun and pulled the trigger, sending the bullet inside hurtling towards the balding officer. It made impact and--

Klink awoke with a gasp and sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily. He gripped his night clothes and made sure they were the right ones that he always wore. Klink was back in his private quarters, not in Barracks Two. _Gott sei dank_ , he thought.

Colonel Klink, Kommadant of Stalag 13 shifted out of bed, did his morning routine, and went into his office. He ordered Schultz to do roll call without him and then come back and get the work detail form from him. He couldn't face those men so soon after that dream. It was just too much. He hesitated for a second before signing the work order. Hogan couldn't do anything. Schultz was staying back in camp for a change while a different guard went with the group. Even, if there was an opportunity for an escape, they wouldn't get very far.

" _Oh, who am I kidding, I don't want to see Hogan shot_ ," Klink said to himself. Klink crossed off the alternate guard's name and wrote in ' _Hans Schultz_ '. He was one of the few guards who could put up with Hogan's antics and not shoot him. Klink was pretty sure Schultz didn't even load his gun most of the time. He accepted the Sergeant's response that all the prisoners were "present and accounted for, _Herr Kommadant_ " and dismissed him with the signed work order.

Klink sighed and continued with the rest of the paperwork. An hour later, Schultz came in to tell him that he was leaving with the prisoners to go and fix the road. Klink nodded and dismissed him. As Klink continued working, he noticed that many of the forms gave him pause, all because of that dream he had last night. Extra blankets, extra rations, extra wood. This war wasn't cheap and he was getting extra everything for what? What did prisoners of war need with all of this stuff? Could they be...no, impossible. Not in Stalag 13. Never...but his dream.

He couldn't deny that he now felt a sense of protection for those boys that were roped into the war. Carter was hardly old enough to drink and he was so naïve about the world. LeBeau and Newkirk just wanted to defend their countries from the Nazi's (which he couldn't blame them for). Kinchloe was a rare occurrence in a German Stalag, but Klink never treated him any different than the other prisoners. If anything, he put him where he would have the most protection from the bigots that existed in the world. And Hogan. Colonel Robert E. Hogan was someone that couldn't be replaced. He defended his country and managed to keep each of the men under his command safe. He was one of the rare senior officers that cared about the men under him, and Klink meant really cared about his men.

He threw his pen down onto the desk in frustration and stared at the forms, thinking of the dream. If anyone _knew_ about it, at best he would be collecting snowflakes in his hair (what was left of it), but the things that happened in the dream, he couldn't just ignore. The tunnel system alone was a work of genius.

There was nothing like that here at Stalag 13: the most escape proof Stalag in Germany. There couldn't be...right? Klink bit his lip in worry. Hogan and the rest of Barracks Two were off on work detail. No one would be in the barracks. Even if Klink knew there couldn't be anything below that bunk, it wouldn't hurt to investigate. If only to get rid of this nagging worry and suspicion that he had.

He stood up and shrugged on his coat, grabbing his hat and riding crop on the way out, passing Fraulein Hilda. He didn't spare her a glance, too focused on his mission. The grounds around Barracks Two were fairly empty since most of its regular inhabitants were off fixing roads.

Klink walked confidently into Barracks Two and looked around to make sure he was alone. He gazed around the room as he made his way over to the bunk. He looked around one more time to make sure he was by himself. When Klink was satisfied, he hit the side of the bunk twice, waiting with bated breath for something to happen. The bunk shuddered for a second before settling. Klink tried again. The bunk rattled, but the bottom bunk didn't rise.

He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and shook his head at his own foolishness. There were no elaborate tunnels underneath Stalag 13 that were run by the senior prisoner of war. Hochstetter must be getting to him. He left the barracks and went back to work, pushing the dream from his mind. Dreams were strange things sometimes.

Underneath in the tunnel, Baker and Olsen held onto the string that raised and lowered the bottom bunk, preventing the tunnel entrance from opening. When the bunk stopped trying to open, they let go and breathed a sigh of relief. That was too close.

_The End._


End file.
